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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646994">Pedro Pascal Characters One Shots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone/pseuds/Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone'>Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prospect (2018), Triple Frontier (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Depression, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Sexual Assault, Scars, Self-Insert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:20:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646994</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone/pseuds/Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently I’m making a habit out of writing Pedro Pascal’s characters one-shots with Tove Lo songs as some of the inspiration. I don't know either.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Original Female Character(s), Francisco "Catfish" Morales/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. You're My Stranger In The Dark (Frankie)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve been having a tough time with everything lately so this is completely a self insert as a way of distracting and coping. Please be aware of that before reading! Title &amp; lyrics from Stranger by Tove Lo.<br/>Also, my nickname is Duck.</p>
<p>The past sexual assault is briefly alluded to (obviously happened way before Frankie) so please be aware of that here!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Fading out, that's my way of life / losing high when the beat goes down / take me now, take me to a place we're alone, we're alone / fading in, take off all my clothes / into you, my frustration grows / take me now, want you to bring me home</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>Frankie hasn't seen them yet and he’s been so understanding about her hesitance, about the wanting but not wanting it all at once.</p>
<p>The hugs aren’t just a meaningless prelude to something else. They are warm, strong with his scent and his chin resting a top her head. Kissing isn’t forceful, just easy brushes of lips on lips until she eventually tugs him just a bit closer. Deeper. Wanting to touch is simple, palm to palm, a head resting on a shoulder, hands running gently through hair.</p>
<p>Most days are two steps forward, others are one step back. </p>
<p>"It's okay, just breath hermosa, you're okay" Frankie's voice sounds muffled, like he's speaking from another room.</p>
<p>He hasn't moved so much as an inch, his face serious and eyes empathetic, if a bit strained.</p>
<p>She stands stock still a few feet away from where they had just been kissing, the warm imprint of his lips on hers begins to bring back the memory through the panic. The edge of the kitchen counter is digging into her lower back as she tries to process what had made her retreat so fast in the first place.</p>
<p>She had gone numb under a wave of bad memories, the rush of feelings that always accompanied them making her feel just on the verge of combusting, screaming.</p>
<p>"Frankie" her voice shakes, the feeling coming back to her fingers in painfully slow increments as she forces them away from the counter.<strong><em><br/>
</em></strong></p>
<p>How long had she been clinging to the counter top with a white knuckled grip? How long has she been standing here, her muscles trembling with strain.</p>
<p>"It's me, just me" he still doesn't move, doesn't even try to reach out a hand.</p>
<p>
  <em>nothimnothimnothimNOTHIMjustfrankieonlyfrankie</em>
</p>
<p>And for a moment she can't figure out why. She feels the urge to apologize, it burns at the back of her throat, in her brain, and then she notices his ever present ball cap is gone. It's on the floor, just behind him.</p>
<p>The noise of the brim of it hitting the tile bounces around inside her head, a dull thwack that was still sharp enough to have startled her, after her hands had swept up through Frankie's hair, pushing the cap off.</p>
<p>Gods, she feels so stupid telling him hours later that that was what had sent her lurching backwards and away from him like she'd been burned, expecting something horrible in return.  </p>
<p>She'd spent half that night haltingly telling him the why’s and what’s and the other half being curled up on his lap, on the couch, slowly running her fingers over his palm, tracing the veins in his forearms. </p>
<p>Finally feeling like she wasn’t something he was just enduring when he told her, wholeheartedly, that she had nothing to feel stupid about. </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>you're my stranger in the dark / i am lonely, lonely heart / waiting for someone to take me home / you're my stranger in the dark / i am lonely, vagabond / hold me down, want you to bring me home</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>She is sure Frankie has seen at least glimpses of them by now. The whitened and glossy skin peeking out from beneath her sleeves when they cook together. Pink ragged patches of flesh at the edge of her jean shorts when she shifts in her seat. Felt the taut, horizontal lines on her rib cage where his fingertips graze but never ask.</p>
<p>He wonders, of that she’s sure, with the way he smooths over the same spots above her clothes as where they lay underneath. The way his head tilted when he asked about the small scar on the corner of her mouth.</p>
<p>"I have to keep some of the mystery don’t I?" she smirked softly, falsely, insides twisting at being caught off guard. Eyes begging him not to push it, not yet.<br/>
Frankie now makes it a point to kiss that corner of her mouth, to brush over it with his lips and fingers. It’s not to coax out answers, he assures her. It’s just because it’s a part of her.</p>
<p>The first time she sleeps in his bed, it feels like crossing a chasm on a frayed tightrope. Her anxiety, irrational and cynic, said that he would expect and take. In reality, Frankie just asks her if she wants him to sleep on the couch, if that would make her more comfortable.</p>
<p>Her mind goes quiet at that, the waves calming.</p>
<p>
  <em>itsnothimnothimnothimjustfrankieonlyfrankie</em>
</p>
<p>She tells him that's sweet but not necessary and asks if she can borrow a shirt to sleep in instead. Frankie grins, easily picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom at her words. Her laughter follows them she clings to his broad shoulders, resting her cheek on the crown of his head with a smile.</p>
<p>The borrowed shirt, an old band tee, stays on her but he learns every spot of scar tissue on her by feel, garnering little noises of approval with his mouth and tongue, leaving behind vivid colors to bloom on her skin where he finds the sounds are the sweetest.</p>
<p>He learns that the spots just above her knees are vulnerable in a way that has her pinning him underneath her, giving as good as she gets. Mapping him inch by inch, with soft strokes and gentle movements, looking back up at his face often enough to make him think that no one has given her this time to just look. Feel.</p>
<p>
  <strong>let's begin, love making you beg for the win / i'm the prize you get if you do everything I say / get you high, I get you high / i wanna be what you want me to be / i'd go anywhere, no rules, I don't care / oh, oh just take me home, oh</strong>
</p>
<p>She wakes in the middle of the night to him stroking the pink scar tissue on the skin of her forearm as they lay in bed. His eyes are flickering between concern and something she can’t place. The mess of his unruly dark hair in the low light seeping in from the windows makes her grin and she wants to trace her own fingers down and across the bridge of his nose, to unfurl that look.</p>
<p>Frankie is frowning, firmly concentrated as his fingertips trace the puckered skin of the burn on her arm where it lays across his chest. From wrist to elbow in one long circuit, up and down and back up again in an endless loop.</p>
<p>It’s only when she shivers from the sensation of his touch that he notices she's awake, tucked into his side, content and still half asleep.</p>
<p>"Sorry I woke you up" he says, voice no more than a murmur.</p>
<p>"It's fine" she assures him and wriggles herself tighter against him, pointedly not moving her arm away from his touch. </p>
<p>He begins tracing the scar again and she can feel him thinking.</p>
<p>“Can I see them?” he asks after a few moments of thought.</p>
<p>“All of them?”</p>
<p>“If you’ll let me.”</p>
<p>She gives her permission with a jerky movement of her head, suddenly more awake, trying not to tense when Frankie leans up on one elbow, still gingerly holding her wrist. He brings her hand up to cup his cheek, giving the scar tissue an her arm a brief pass over with his lips on the way. </p>
<p>The sensation of his mustache tickles, makes her toes flex and curl beneath the sheets, against his legs. The scruff on his jaw entices her fingers to curve to the shape of it.</p>
<p>"Just tell me to stop if you want me to, okay?"</p>
<p>She hums her understanding, too busy chewing on her bottom lip to answer out loud.</p>
<p>Slowly leaning down, giving her ample time to retreat if she wants, he kisses that familiar corner of her mouth, and the question isn’t spoken, but it’s there all the same.</p>
<p>
  <em>How did this get here? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Me.</em>
</p>
<p>Briefly, he frowns and leans down to kiss her properly, body pressing into hers heavily but feeling more like a comfort than anything else. His muscles shifting under her gripping hands, fluid and graceful, making her shiver.</p>
<p>His kisses begin trailing down and over her chin, skimming past her throat and onto her chest where a small, round scar about the size of a match head lays high on her sternum.</p>
<p>Frankie looks up expectantly, eyes soft. She gives a nod, her throat tight and mouth dry.</p>
<p>She can see his jaw clench but he does nothing but shift downward to settle between her thighs, hands dipping down and under the edge of her borrowed shirt, stroking back and forth on the soft skin there before he slowly slides the fabric up.</p>
<p>
  <strong>you're my stranger in the dark / i am lonely, vagabond / hold me down, want you to bring me home</strong>
</p>
<p>The width of his palms encase each side of her torso in a soft hold. It’s a quiet exploration of each line burned into her skin long ago, being smoothed over by feather light touches, like notches in flesh, six on each side of her rib cage.</p>
<p>“These too?” his tone is dolorous and she wishes she could say no.</p>
<p>“Yeah, those too” she half expects a pitiful look, it’s what everyone else gave her. </p>
<p>Frankie’s grip on her sides tightens just a fraction and instead, he lays his forehead down on her stomach and breathes out a few words she can’t quiet catch. It makes her want to slip away, his face so close to the biggest insecurity she has.</p>
<p>She doesn’t know what to do with her hands now, fingers flexing in and out of fists on his shoulders to relieve some of the anxiety coursing through her. She batters it down with the reminder that this isn't anyone but Frankie.</p>
<p>
  <em>nothimjustfrankieonlyfrankie</em>
</p>
<p>The fringe of his hair tickles her belly when he moves next, further down, pressing a kiss at the top of her underwear. Her whole body jerks and she almost knees him in the gut out of pure instinct at the feeling but he catches her right thigh in a soft hold, kneeling before her.</p>
<p>"Gotta be quicker than that, pata," smirking, he catches her wide eyes, kissing her knee cap and the L-shaped scar on it, as she tries to hide her deep blush behind her hands.</p>
<p>That stupid nickname. Duck. She almost regrets telling him about that old nickname. At least he hasn't told Benny about it, he would never call her by her real name again if he knew.</p>
<p>When she pulls her hands away, Frankie is just looking. Holding the back of her thigh like it might break, eyes washing over the marks he finds there again and again. They wrap around her thigh and up her hip like a vine of agony. Short lines grouped in three's, like claw marks, burned into the skin. Then there's a shape that looks oddly familiar to him, stamped among those lines.</p>
<p>This one he does touch, tracing the outline of the triangle shaped scar, so intent on figuring out <em>what</em> that when he realizes it's the flat of a blade from a pocket knife, he can't keep the anger off his face.</p>
<p>The word though, the word branded at the top of her thigh, makes him angry in the most vicious way. Not at her though.</p>
<p>The scowl on his face is enough to make her want to pull the covers back on, wrap herself up and try to forget the feeling of tears burning at the back of her throat. This is what she dreaded most. Him seeing where she had punished herself the worst, the harshest.</p>
<p>B A D. The lines are long, sharp, and raised as he traces them.</p>
<p>By now she's trembling slightly, no longer looking at him or the scars she made. She can't look, just stares at the ceiling, tears sliding down the sides of her face, to the sheets beneath.</p>
<p>Then he leans over her, elbows meeting the mattress so he can wrap his arms under and around her back, his hips fitting behind her thighs. It's on instinct that she wraps her legs around him, slotting them together like a key in a lock.</p>
<p>"Hey, my little duck" he smiles down at her, nearly nose to nose.</p>
<p>"I just- I felt like I had to make myself look like. . ." the thought dies when she can't find a way to describe it. </p>
<p>"You don't have to explain anything to me" </p>
<p>"I want to, I really do" her voice cracks "they're a. . . a part of me and I wouldn't be here" she grasps his face between her hands "with you, if I hadn't made them."</p>
<p>Frankie is quiet at that, leaning his face into her palm and pulls a hand out from under her to trace her lips, eventually ending up on the scar on her lips.</p>
<p>"If they helped you, if they got you to where you are now" he leans dangerously close, mouth just barely brushing hers "with me, then okay."</p>
<p>"Okay?" she strains to meet his gaze with his face so close. She can't tell what he's thinking.</p>
<p>"Yeah, okay." </p>
<p>And then he ducking down for a brief kiss, quick enough that she doesn't immediately notice him grabbing her hips until she's pulled half way down the bed and feels Frankie snap the band of her underwear.</p>
<p>"I think I'll show you how much I appreciate that you are here, scars and all, even though I wish you didn't ever have to hurt this much" he's shouldering his way between her thighs, one arm wrapping around her scarred one.</p>
<p>She can't think of any words that would fit the look on Frankie's face, the look in his deep brown eyes meeting hers past the curves of her belly and breasts.</p>
<p>"Is that okay?" </p>
<p>"Yeah, it's- yeah, okay" she sighs, reaches down to card her fingers through his hair, gripping like she knows he likes and she can feel his hum of approval against her inner thigh.</p>
<p>Her breath hitches, her legs drawing up instinctively just a little to try and close.</p>
<p>
  <em>thisisfrankiejustfrankieonlyeverfrankie</em>
</p>
<p>Instead, she drapes a leg over one broad shoulder and lets Frankie pull her apart, leaving marks with his lips and teeth over her scars. </p>
<p>
  <strong>so you're my last hope and, and I don't care what you do / leave my heart open, I'm gonna leave it for you you / can walk on it, I wanna hurt, feeling used / take the edge off it, just take the edge off it</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cycles (Ezra)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>So. This is a thing that happened. Title and lyrics are from Cycles by Tove Lo. This is something that happens to me, usually at night when I have a harder time distracting my mind. I get overwhelmed by my own thoughts and I can’t break out of the cycle of thoughts and it’s terrifying. Not like a panic attack but the only things I can do are squeeze something soft, sway in a rhythm, and hum horribly until it passes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>I'm in a cycle / yeah, I admit it / how can I change it when I don't know when I'm in it? / i'm in a cycle </strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>You aren’t sure if it was the humming, the rhythmic rocking sway of your bare feet on the metal floor, or the lack of your body next to his that woke Ezra. Maybe all three.</p>
<p>But you only have a brief moment to notice the confused look on his face, half in shadow, as he searches for you in the low light of the pod. And then it pulls you back under.</p>
<p>That wave of endless fear, dulled only by the coursing of random thoughts that leave your muscles taught and shaking as you squeeze the fabric of the softest blanket Ezra could find you.</p>
<p>It's balled up against your chest, curled and twisted in on itself, the drag of it's plush texture soothes it's way across your arms, your chest, and pushes itself through the thin tank top. You've been rubbing a corner of it between your fingertips for as long as you have been standing here.</p>
<p>It could have been hours and you wouldn't have noticed.</p>
<p>The ends of your hair drag back and forth like a painters brush on your bare upper arms. The only sensations that matter are the ones that keep you from choking on the void of repetitive and disastrous thoughts.</p>
<p>The moment Ezra finds your form, hunched over and drifting side to side with some unknown, intense purpose he scrambles from the cot and over to you as swiftly as he can in the darkness. And once he is close enough, hand outstretched to grasp you, he sees your eyes, they way they reach past anything he can see, tilted up to look out one of the glass panels of the pod.</p>
<p>But you aren't really seeing, you haven't even acknowledged his presence a mere step in front of yourself. Sleepwalking, he considers. But no, this hasn't happened before, and surely you would have mentioned such a thing. Especially being out in the Green.</p>
<p>Oh no, this is something hauntingly different than the you Ezra sees during the waking hours.</p>
<p>Your eyes are now fixed, on what he won't dare imagine, when they normally cannot seem to stay in one place. Always searching out something new to see, eventually coming back to land on him.</p>
<p>You are his Hummingbird, quick and skittish, but tenacious. Hungry for new opportunities, new things to learn, to consume and love and protect.</p>
<p>Oh you are a lethal protector, even in your kindness, a fray even he would hesitate to throw himself into.</p>
<p>Your swaying creaks the flooring of the pod in an offbeat tune and he wonders if it isn't helping to keep you locked in whatever state this is, the lines of your body tight with strained muscles.</p>
<p>He puts his hand on your arm but nothing. Not a flinch, no reaction, just the brush of his palm to your skin and you continue in your eerie dance. It sends a slow crawling fear down his gut, cold and precise.</p>
<p>"Hummingbird" he speaks quietly at first, putting his hand on your arm with purpose, not to stop you, just to make contact.</p>
<p>You let out a small hum and it's a weight lifted off of his shoulders.</p>
<p>"Birdie, can you look at me?" he asks, hand grasping more tightly, feeling the muscle beneath your skin coil and relax in turns.</p>
<p>Another hum vibrates the air and he can't decipher its meaning. If Ezra is a man of words, and indeed he is, you are a language he isn't always able to understand, even before now.</p>
<p>It scares him, that he can't always reach you with words, and now he is adequately terrified. He is more than confident that you are aware of this, you speak in looks and silent motions, subconscious expressions are your prose.</p>
<p>So he attempts a line out of your book. Putting his only arm around you, not pulling your body to him but the other way around. He secures himself to you like moss clinging to a tree and sways with you.</p>
<p>The blanket you have clutched against your chest is now a cushion for his as well, your arms caught in-between. Both barefoot on the grating of the floor, the metal is sure to leave imprints as a reminder.</p>
<p>Your head is tilted back, eyes on that far off point he'll never see, so Ezra watches the movement of your neck, the lift and fall of your chest, fingers gripping the cloth of your top where his hand finds purchase on your back.</p>
<p>He doesn't know how long you both stay like this, only that he tries to keep his own body relaxed, hoping it will leech into yours. And he keeps his words from tumbling out, trying to translate them instead to the movements of his fingers, the pressure and placement of his hand on your back.</p>
<p>He would stay here, silent as the coldness of space, for as long as you needed him.</p>
<p>The small tears that roll down your face feel like heaven. Because it's a feeling. Anything other than the blind dread that had woken you, locked you inside with racing thoughts too big, too scary, to have in the dark.</p>
<p>You can finally focus in on the view outside the pod, the foliage hanging above you and the stars beyond it. There is something different about seeing them from a planet or moon, wholly different than being out among them on a ship.</p>
<p>A subtle shift in angle, but not of sight. A shift in being. Being so fucking small.</p>
<p>"Hummingbird, can you look at me?" Ezra sounds worried, teetering on the edge of something akin to panic.</p>
<p>His hand slides up from your back to the stiffness of your neck, cradling the base of your skull and stroking away the tenseness he finds there. The hum you make sounds broken, mixed with a sob hidden deep somewhere inside your lungs, and you pray to kevva he understands you.</p>
<p>
  <em>Help. Help me, I can't crawl out of my own head. Please help.</em>
</p>
<p>Slowly, he manages to bring your gaze down to his, his grasp on your neck pulling you out of the ether and back into your body. You've stopped swaying. The ache in your muscles is deep, like you've swam against a strong tide.</p>
<p>"There you are" Ezra whispers, the quietest you think you've ever heard him, as he leans his forehead against yours.</p>
<p>His eyes are as deep as the space that you traveled to get to this place, where it is you can't honestly recall right now. But they aren't empty, not an abyss of fear that plagues you in moments of weakness, when you feel your mortality like a monster stalking you.</p>
<p>Ezra's eyes are rich with worry as you simply stare back at him, finding purchase in them, ground you can cling to. You know he finds his place in words and that he's just spent kevva knows how long wrapped up in silence, utterly shut out from you.</p>
<p>"I understand that look, Hummingbird, and I will not for one moment have you entertaining the absurd idea that I need an apology" he says, nose nudging yours and settling you with a look that brokers no counter offer.</p>
<p>"Okay" the word slips out, your voice watery and shaking.</p>
<p>"As for an explanation, I would at some point hope to be privy to one, but only when you feel willing and able to share. Is that alright?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I just-" a few more tears escape you and you try to blink them away "I feel so small, weak, sometimes and it swallows me and I can't climb out. I get stuck."</p>
<p>You can feel Ezra nod, foreheads still pressed together, as he offers you a small smile, dark brown eyes warm as sun drenched soil,  freshly turned.</p>
<p>"I know you are not inclined to believe things like this so easily Hummingbird but you are the furthest thing from weak and please, understand when I impart to you that I will always be here to pull you from wherever you find yourself trapped, I mean it wholeheartedly."</p>
<p>Nodding, you give a smile that wavers only faintly, eyes closing when Ezra pulls away only to bring his lips to your forehead, pressing a kiss there before ducking down to place another on your lips.</p>
<p>It makes you feel as tall as some of the giant trees you've stumbled upon in the Green, reaching up to the sky, growing against the press of the universe, climbing up and reaching out to the dark. Unafraid.</p>
<p>Your hands have long since gone slack in their hold of the blanket, so you pull your arms free to let it fall at your feet. Slow and shaky, your hands reach up and cradle his face when you break the kiss.</p>
<p>"Thank you Ezra, for listening" you lean into him, thumb stroking the thin silvery scar on his cheek.</p>
<p>"With you, my Hummingbird, I am always listening“ he leans into your touch, pulling you closer, intent on never letting you fall again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fear of the Dark (Frankie)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nyctophobia: a severe fear of the dark, often triggered by the brains disfigured perception of what would, or could, happen when in a dark environment.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You had planned on spending the night at Frankie’s place. You had not planned on the storm that knocked out the power for his whole block in the middle of the night. Sure you spent plenty of time at his house just not in the pitch dark.</p>
<p>You and Frankie had fell asleep on the couch, TV playing some random show neither of you had put much thought into picking. By then it had been raining fairly hard, the wind audibly rushing outside, battering the foliage around like it had a personal vendetta.</p>
<p>Storms never bothered you much. It was the occasional power outages they caused that got to you.</p>
<p>Frankie, thankfully, hadn’t commented on the way you kept your phone gripped tight in hand as you tucked yourself further under the blanket and closer into his arms.</p>
<p>That seemed like hours ago now as you lay on the couch, alone, in a darkness so thick that it seemed to fit over you like the blanket you were clutching, working up the nerve to move.</p>
<p>You had to find your phone. Your phone meant power, power meant light, and light, well. That would chase away the crowded thoughts gathering in the dark, your mind conjuring up something sinister in the spirals of fear the inky blackness was weaving around you.</p>
<p>Slowly you feel around the couch, you remember falling asleep with your phone in hand, so it had to be somewhere close by. Maybe tucked between the cushions or hidden in a fold of the large blanket.</p>
<p>But the the longer you search and come up empty, the more frantic your imaginings become. Every hulking shape is a monster just waiting to tug you further down into the dark. Every second is another step closer to whoever is hiding in the furthest corners of the unlit room.</p>
<p>This fear of the dark, of the unknown, completely disarms you in a way that most people grew out of as they get older but not you. Fuck. You sleep with three flashlights within arms reach of your bed, one in your purse, and a string of fairy lights strung up in your room for when the sun sinks away into the night.</p>
<p>You give up on your phone and coil up all the strength you can into tossing yourself from the couch, scrambling in the direction you think might lead to your purse. Everything outside of that single idea is null and void.</p>
<p>The rain is static against the windows. The rushing wind is muted by the pounding of your blood and the frantic breaths that must be yours.</p>
<p>Just as your feet hit the tile of the kitchen, something brushes your arm and you practically leap away like a fucking gazelle, a ragged sound of shock climbing out of your mouth.</p>
<p>Knocking into what feels like the stove, you hear pots and pans rattle behind you. Instinct tells you to grab one and before you can think, you're flinging the contents of whatever is in the nearest pot at your shadowy monster.</p>
<p>"What the hell!" the figure yells, more astonished sounding than angry.</p>
<p>"Frankie?" you barely get his name out before you're dropping the pot and launching yourself at the sound of his muttered curses.</p>
<p>"Hey, wait, it's all-" </p>
<p>But he's not quick enough and you're already barrelling into him, feet slipping on the slick tile, momentum sending you both to the floor. You feel one of your elbows connect with a drawer handle on the way down, chin connecting with Frankie's chest and you can hear the wind get knocked right out of his lungs, as well as a thump that had to be his head hitting the floor.</p>
<p>"Frankie, are you okay? Did you hit your head?" you ask, slipping off his chest and onto the wet floor, leaning close enough that you can see the vaguest outline of his face.</p>
<p>He gasps out a sound in the affirmative. To which of your questions you aren't sure, so you simply stay still beside him while he get his breath back.</p>
<p>"Cariño. Mi querida. . . did you throw soup at me?" Frankie asks with a huff of amusement once he can speak.</p>
<p>"Oh fuck, I'm so sorry Frankie I was just- I couldn't see anything and I just grabbed it" you slump down, forehead thumping onto his shoulder in embarrassment.</p>
<p>"I mean, it's not the most terrible thing to use as an improvised weapon, sure as shit stunned me" he chuckles, hand reaching over to place a soothing hand in your hair.</p>
<p>"I couldn't find my phone" you mumble sadly into his shirt, which smells deeply of the soup you had brought over with you earlier.</p>
<p>"The battery was dead by the time you fell asleep" he tells you, sounding more confused now "it's still plugged in over on the end table, not that it's doing any good now" </p>
<p>"Oh. Okay."</p>
<p>It's at least a full minute or two before he speaks, fingers gentling through your hair, giving comfort at the sudden realization he seems to have had.</p>
<p>"The power went out" he states simply "and you woke up in the dark, without your phone."</p>
<p>"Or you" you add quietly.</p>
<p>"I woke up when the power cut and I went to see if the generator had any gas"</p>
<p>"How'd that work out for you?" you say, a pitiful tone creeping into your voice.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm laying in a puddle of soup, in the dark, with you. So not to terrible"</p>
<p>"Oh god, don't tell anyone, please"</p>
<p>"What? About the soup you attacked me with? Oh, everyone is going to know about it eventually, it's too great to keep a secret."</p>
<p>You groan and he shakes with laughter beneath you, giving your hair a soft tug, and you sit up enough to look him in the eyes. You're close enough to see the tenderness in them.</p>
<p>"You could have told me. . . about being afraid of the dark, you can tell me that kind of stuff, okay?" he murmurs.</p>
<p>"Okay" nodding, you smile weakly, and reach up to pick a slice of carrot out of Frankie's hair, tossing it away to worry about later when the lights are back on.</p>
<p>"Good, now help me up, I don't want to stew in these clothes any longer"</p>
<p>"Oh, oh Francisco Morales, that was truly awful, just terrible" you scold him to keep from laughing and manage to get up on your knees.</p>
<p>You keep a steadying hand on Frankie as he sits up, more so to keep from panicking in the dark again while you both use the counters as leverage to stand up without slipping.  <br/>"I have no idea what your talking about" he leans close once you're both upright and lands a kiss on your lips.</p>
<p>You can feel him smirking the whole time, his lips tasting of the salty broth of the soup, pulling you in close regardless of the soaking state of his shirt, and you smile back. That fear has dissipated in the presence of Frankie. Even drenched in cold soup and no doubt with a sore back, he manages to make everything seem lighter.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Cuddling w/Frankie headcanons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. CUDDLES!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-Top tier snuggles with this man. Like? Those broad shoulders? Drape your arms over them from behind while he’s sitting down, kiss his cheek and settle in for a minute or two while his hand rests on yours intertwined on his chest.</p>
<p>-It doesn’t matter to him who sees, he loves the contact baby.</p>
<p>-Couch snuggles are all kinds of interesting. Wanna snuggle on his lap, come on over. Chest to chest, your head tucked into that warm space in the crook of his neck, arms tucked close and your legs bracketing his thighs/hips.</p>
<p>-ALL.THE. NECK. KISSES.</p>
<p>-You give him some, he gives you some, ADORABLE AF.</p>
<p>-Wrap your arms around him and play with his hair, talking in quiet voices about nothing too important and pulling back just to meet eyes and give gentle kisses.</p>
<p>-Invite him to lay his head on your lap (more hair playing opportunities) and he can wrap an arm or hand around your thigh. Rub circles on his back, let him nuzzle his face into your belly and fall asleep.</p>
<p>-Go camping with Frankie and the cuddles will be Impressively Comforting. Sharing a sleeping bag, in a two person tent? Uh. He’s got those arms wrapped around you good and snug, legs tangled together and warm still smelling of campfire smoke, fresh air and <em>Frankie</em>.</p>
<p>-Standing in the middle of the kitchen while you wait for something to finish cooking or because it’s late and you both just can’t sleep, arms tight around his midsection and your ear against his chest. Heartbeat steady and soothing, just swaying back and forth until you’re tired enough to go back to bed.</p>
<p>-SPEAKING OF BED.</p>
<p>-Waking up late, having no where to go that day and just enjoying the sun warmed air and the blankets tucked around around both of you.</p>
<p>-And on the mornings you do have to be up and about you take every minute you can to just touch. Tracing imaginary lines on skin, trading soft words.</p>
<p>-100% let him brush your hair while you sit in bed at night with his legs on either side of you and if you start to fall asleep, he’ll let you lay back into his chest. He is not moving for anything.</p>
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